Bouquets For You
by Solisortiri
Summary: Did you know that every type of flower has a meaning? A series of oneshots with a flower for different situations and characters. Now playing: Forget Me Not - A certain blue eyed boy who wants nothing more than to just be remembered.
1. Rhododendron

They day they left the rhododendrons were still in bloom. He waved goodbye to a nearly crying Winry and a solemn Granny Pinako who had forced her old wrinkled face into a steady smile for their sake. He made no promises to visit, nor did his little brother, who was not so little anymore. He told them thank you for taking him in, and with hardly anything the brothers turned and set on the road that would lead them permanently away from the pile of ashes they once called a home, vowing silently to never look back. As he walked with uneven footing, one leg heavier than the other, a cool breeze swept around him. Goosebumps rose on one arm, feeling the wind through the crimson fabric surrounding it, and the other arm felt nothing. Flower petals blew into his path.

"Beware, there is danger ahead," The rhododendrons whispered to him as he passed, their branches brushing past his right arm. But he felt nothing and continued on his path, never slowing, never stopping, as he crushed the petals beneath his feet.

The Rhododendron means "Beware"


	2. Hydrangea

The hydrangeas originated in Xing but somehow managed to spread to the area of Ishbal. The bushes boasted their colourful flowers proudly, even as they stood just outside the warzone. They observed the massacre of the normally peaceful people in the desert area. They listened to the screams and the gunshots and the sound of houses burning and collapsing. They did little more than flinch when their normally pink, and blue, and purple suddenly became a glaring crimson and their sweet smell was covered by a coppery, tangy odour. They watched as the State Alchemists snuffed out human lives, one by one or by the hundreds, seemingly without a care.

One man did care though; he stumbled to the outskirts of town at the end of a particularly long day. He vomited into the dust and then, walking a few steps, collapsed in front of a bush covered in flowers, some dying and some close to blooming. Roy leaned back into them and then, feeling something chilly, and sticky on his neck, sat up straight again. He slowly twisted his neck to peer over his shoulder. One look at the blood drenched petals was enough to make him woozy again. Deciding not to get up, he couldn't trust his legs right now; he waited in front of those crimson streaked petals for the nausea to pass. The State Alchemist stared at the shifting sands, also stained with blood.

"For the good of the people, for the good of the people" Repeating this mantra almost silently under his breath he leaned forward and supported his head in his hands. He was here in this war because he had to be. He had joined the military to help the nation. What kind of a person would he be if he backed out now? Looking up at the sky, he exhaled into the evening air, growing chilly enough for him to vaguely see his breath. His goal was still clear, but he didn't know if he could reach it. How much more of this could he take? How many more humans could he kill before whatever made him human died too? His mind was constantly overrun by panic and confusion. How could he be helping the people if all he ever did, day after day, was killing people? How could he ever claim to be a hero, like so many called him, if he simply incinerated everything in his country's path? State Alchemists were there for the people. How could he support the people if all of them were dead? The stress weighed heavily on his shoulders. He shuddered against the bush, trying to ease the throbbing in his head by rubbing his temples. He choked on a sandy breath and for a moment drowned in the feeling of being so sick of life. Fatigue wore at his bones and before he knew it he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The next morning he woke up leaning on that same bush. He managed to sit up straight. Would the rest of the soldiers be worried that one of their human weapons had seemingly disappeared? He would have to hurry back to the camp so they would know he was still alive. Standing up and steadying himself, he prepared to run back to where the rest of the soldiers had slept. Something caught his eye though, and he turned around. One of the flowers was blooming. The inside was still pure, void of any blood that tainted its underside and all the flowers around it. It was opening to show the world that it had seen horrible things, been stained with blood, but inside, it was still okay, still capable of being beautiful. It had persevered through violent battles and horrible explosions, and so much bloodshed, and it would live on. It would survive and get over this. It would show the world all it had and make it a little more bearable.

Roy took note of this flower, blooming past the trials it had faced, and turned to run back to the camp. This hydrangea would live and it would thrive and continue to tomorrow. And so would he.

The hydrangea represents perseverance.


	3. Daffodil

**Hmm...this one also revolves around Roy and/or Edward. There will be other characters, I promise you! I also have one written up about Heidrich and one about Alphonse, too. It's just that Roy and Edward are my favourite characters and I actually quite like this one, so I couldn't help but upload it. So there, to my non-existant readers: I'll get to the other characters soon. I promise.**

Late afternoon stifled Central City like a wet towel over a candle. The air was hot and humid, speaking of summer days where children played outside until dusk settled and the carefree giggles and shouts were replaced with silence as young adults watched sun sets and felt the earth cool to a brisk evening. The daffodils swayed in the slightest of breezes as it skimmed the ground. They filled a garden at the front of Central's headquarters, bright and cheery, like a thousand stars fallen from the heavens.

To Edward Elric, atheist extraordinaire, they were nothing but an annoyance as he stormed out the front door in a frustrated blaze of red, black, and yellow. Of course, this was a normal occurrence. It was four thirty on a Saturday evening and he had just gotten through a particularly troublesome report to the Colonel. Predictably, he was muttering curses under his breath, hating his job and Roy Mustang, and mourning the fact that the thin alchemy book clutched in his hand would be the highlight of his day.

He paused by the daffodil gardens and, after glowering at the obnoxiously bright petals for a second, decided that they, along with Roy Mustang, were one of the only things that would not wither under his glare, decided to sit down and read his book right there. The second he got back to the barracks his brother would be on his case, demanding to know how the report had gone. After all, it was not often that Edward decided to give his report alone, without an explanation, anyway. He simply didn't have one for his brother, or himself for that matter, and Edward couldn't help contemplating this as he stretched his legs out in front of him, sitting on a bench in front of the garden, fingers loosely holding open the thin book in his hands. He started out concentrating on the complex alchemic array in front of him, but he found his mind drifting, particularly to one certain Colonel.

God, why in the world did Edward even bother to think about him? He was a selfish bastard, insistent that the world revolved around him. He was cruel and manipulative, and lazy too! Every time Edward walked in the man would be flicking paper airplanes or gazing out the window. He told too many lies and everything about him was fake. The blond shook his head, as if to physically clear his thoughts, and attempted to concentrate on the book once more. All too soon his eyes lost focus and he found himself lost in his thoughts once again, that lousy Flame Alchemist clouding his mind.

A pair of fingers snapped in front of his face cleared his daze. Flinching, he looked up to see the bastard himself staring down at him.

"Don't snap near me," he hissed, just angry that the man had caught him daydreaming.

"Sorry," he spread his hands out, as if to show innocence…like he even had any. "Look, no gloves anyway."

"Whatever."

"So, you're still here. Did you forget how to get home? Central is a pretty big city for a little guy like you."

"Who are you calling so small he can't even be seen with a microscope?!" Ed stood, outraged.

The Colonel just laughed. "I never went that far."

Edward sat down again, too tired and apathetic to continue. There was something he had to figure out and he needed time and energy to think.

"Hey, are you okay?" Mustang asked, voice much kinder than Edward had ever heard before.

"What's it to you?" the teenager replied grumpily.

"Just asking…you're acting rather unusually…for you anyway."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" but Edward couldn't help thinking that maybe the man knew him a little better than he thought he did. Then again, it only made sense that Mustang would be able to tell if something was wrong. After all, he'd been the guy's subordinate since he was twelve. Ed grimaced, thinking of that day three years ago when he had boarded a train, manipulated by the Colonel into taking down the terrorists, or at least subduing them before the Flame Alchemist came in and roasted their leader. Edward had been so nervous when he talked on the phone with Mustang and momentarily forgot how to speak Amestrian. He never could admit it, but his stuttering had been out of intimidation…and yes, a little bit of respect. The man was a twenty-six year old Colonel, Hero of Ishbal, and gaining ranks with no sign of stopping. Even Edward knew that was impressive. Of course, he began to hate the man as he poked fun of his height and sent him on dangerous or annoying missions. He was a manipulative, lazy, lying bastard. That was why Edward couldn't stand him.

But then, there were moments like this. When the concern in his eyes couldn't be anything but honest and Edward felt a little bit of that old feeling flair up: respect. Admittedly, for all the horrible things he had done, Roy Mustang was a pretty good person. He had plans to be Fuhrer someday, so that he could overtake the country and make it a democracy. He was going to do great things and no person was better suited to carry out his plans. He was a cut diamond, chipped away and imperfectly round, but every imperfection a shining facet, and for every imperfection, impossible to replace.

"I'm just saying, you're acting weird," Roy kept his eyes locked on Ed's, attempting to read his features.

"Well I'm fine," the teenager stood up, clapping the book shut and attempting to intimidate the man with his stare. It didn't work, of course. "Just go away. You suck at asking people how they're doing and no one likes you as well as you think they do."

"Alright then," Roy bore this with a patient smile, glad to see that the boy was his usual, insulting self.

And with that, Edward Elric stomped off, nearly trampling innocent daffodils in his wake and screaming insults over his shoulder. "You're annoying! You're lazy! You just make fun of my height because no one looks up to you!"

But the flowers don't lie.

_The daffodil represents respect._


	4. Forget Me Not

Forget-me-nots grew especially well around Alfons Heiderich's grave. They quivered and danced whenever a breeze blew. They were the exact same colour as his eyes: a brilliant, shining, intelligent blue. The colour of youth and what seems happy at first, but is really maybe sort of a sad hue. Just like Alfons, who seemed like a motivated, hardworking young man for the sake of the world; but really only wanted to be remembered.

Edward Elric remembered him. He was never one for sentimentalities, but Alfons had been his friend all the same. So at least once a year, on the anniversary of his death, (which was also the date on which Edward had saved a whole world) he visited him. He never brought a bouquet; that was cheesy and plenty of flowers grew around the grave anyway, but he did kneel by the tombstone and pay his respects. This boy, forever seventeen, had helped him find his brother again, the one person he could let in to his life. Edward recalled that day. He sat in a rocket with Alfons standing over him, securing him. He had always been securing him. He told him how it would work, how it would get him to the other side of the gate.

"_Wait, who says I want to go?" Ed asked, a little bit frantic behind his words._

"_I want you to go," and then the boy smiled._

"…_Am I in your way, Alfons?"_

"_We're not just something that exists in a dream of yours," he responded. Ed realized just then exactly how real this world was to him, how real Alfons was to him._

_Alfons continued, "Even if I'm dying…I know who am and I know I exist."_

The boy had taken his hand then. He had looked into his eyes, deep blue meeting spun gold. The moment lasted forever and ended all too quickly. _"Don't forget."_ And with that Alfons closed the cover and ran to the controls, sending Edward off on an entire other journey and the road to his brother.

And when he came back and saw him on the ground, bleeding and long dead…

He owed him, and the least he could do was remember him.

But then, how could he forget? He saw his near facsimile everyday. Though, he had always considered Alfons Heiderich to be a copy of his brother. The face was the same, except for the eyes. His brother had a deep, gentle grey while Heiderich's eyes were a shining blue. Just like, Edward noticed, the forget-me-nots that covered the earth at his grave. Edward had never learned what particular flowers mean, but it didn't take a genius (though he was one) to figure that what forget-me-nots represent.

So with a small, sad, smile he stood up on two legs, one flesh, one metal, and watched the flowers dance again in the warm afternoon wind.

"Don't forget me," And Ed could almost hear Alfons's voice drifting to him from the shivering petals. And he, perhaps subconsciously, nodded his head just the tiniest bit. He turned away from the grave and started walking home. Could he even forget this boy? The one who had lived with him and died for him? He could still feel the phantom hand on his, lying atop his fingers as Alfons looked into his eyes, telling him: _"Don't forget."_ And as long as the forget-me-nots stayed blue, and even beyond that, Edward Elric knew that he never, never would.

The forget-me-not means "Remember Me Forever"


End file.
